Brave Enough to Yield
by dragonflyfeathers
Summary: Jon Snow comes to visit Daenerys at Dragonstone after the events of Season 6, and learns of his true parentage. He and Daenerys are both stubborn, and find it difficult to trust each other. A shared tragedy brings them closer together. Told from Daenerys's point of view. *Many thanks to an earlier reader who caught an error with one of the character names in this story!*
1. Chapter 1

Jon had refused to kneel, when he first came to Dragonstone. He'd stood before her, in well-tailored furs clearly made by someone else's hand, and simply declined. Dany had been insulted. She was also intrigued. How many men would refuse the Mother of Dragons, the most beautiful woman in the world?

Stubbornness ran deep in Jon, she soon learned. She'd had the idea to form an alliance with him, and seduce him, as soon as she heard of his visit. She'd plotted as he traveled from Winterfell, with Tyrion's help.

"He'll be as intractable as a mule. Slightly more handsome, though," Tyrion had told her, and winked.

Tyrion had been right. Jon promised his army with some reluctance, but he was cold to her advances. It stung more than she expected. She wasn't immune to loneliness herself. She'd felt a childish swelling of hope when she'd learned that she might not be the last of her line, that another dragon might walk the earth. But Jon kept her mostly at a distance, though she saw him staring at her once or twice. Perhaps there was some truth to the saying that Northern men had ice in their veins.

Jon took to Rhaegal, at least. Dany envied how quickly he'd developed a bond with the beast. It had taken her months to feel the presence of Drogon's mind, once he was fully grown. Jon had managed to connect with the green dragon in a matter of days. It had made her job of convincing him of his true heritage easier. That, and Varys's scroll from Howland Reed had left Jon with no room for doubt.

Jon himself might not say much, but the news he brought of the terror north of the Wall had turned Dany's mission on its head. She'd sailed across the Narrow Sea prepared to do battle in Westeros. She'd arrived on shore ready to take what was hers, as was her right, and reclaim the Iron Throne at King's Landing. Then Jon confirmed Varys's whispers of the White Walkers, and the wights, and priorities had shifted to protecting the realm. They needed weapons, and weapons, according to Jon, meant fire, and dragonglass.

Fire, and powerful fire at that, they had in abundance, thanks to Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. But the dragonglass was more elusive. Dozens of Unsullied had scoured the castle and come back empty-handed. Dany was not a patient woman by nature, and was ready to move on. Yet Tyrion insisted they search the caverns beneath Dragonstone once more.

"I'll hear no more about dragonglass, Lord Tyrion." Dany tucked into their meager breakfast. The stores of food were depleting fast. But she'd traveled enough under rough conditions to eat whatever was before she saw Jon scrape his plate clean, she thought the same might be true of him.

Tyrion had a more discerning palate, and picked at the stale bread and hard cheese with distaste. "We need all the weapons we can find, my queen."

Dany rolled her eyes. Would Tyrion not let this go? "Has it slipped your mind, Lord Tyrion, the days we've spent searching arrived?"

"Hardly, Your Grace. But I did receive an interesting raven just this morning. Apparently we haven't been looking in the right place." Tyrion, naturally, made a show of revealing his secret. He brought the scroll out from under his green tunic with a flourish.

Dany didn't recognize the seal. "Who sent it?"

"The Citdel. I wrote to them after our first failure to find the glass. I know a great many things, but there are books in the city that pre-date the Doom of Valyria. I asked for every detail about Dragonstone's cache of glass."

"You don't give up easily, do you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Dany scoffed. "Come now, Lord Tyrion, we've been through those tunnels a hundred times by now."

"Not with this map, Your Grace." The spiderweb of lines indicating the hidden paths under Dragostone was remarkable. Each line had been labeled in neat handwriting.

"May I?" Jon had a strange look on his face, as if he'd seen a ghost. Dany handed him the parchment. Jon traced the paper, and held it up to the afternoon light. "You did it, Sam."

"Sam?" Dany was surprised Jon knew anyone at the Citadel.

"He was my friend in the night's watch. He made this map. I recognize the writing. I sent him to the Citadel to be a maester. Told him to learn all he could about dragonglass."

"How enterprising of you," Tyrion said. Dany suspected he might be a tad jealous. Tyrion hated to be upstaged.

Jon looked at Tyrion for a long moment. "When you've seen death come for you, and you know a piece of glass can stop it, you do what you bloody well can to get more of it."

Tyrion sipped his wine. "Yes, well, fair enough. Shall we go for a walk?"


	2. Chapter 2

Tyrion lit the sconces one by one as he made his way down the stairs. Jon and Dany followed. The dank, musty smell was almost overpowering. When Dany trailed her fingers along the wall, they came away damp. She tripped on the edge of a stair and nearly lost her footing, but Jon steadied her. This close, Dany was suddenly aware of how solid and strong he was. She caught the scent of leather and pine.

"All right?" Jon whispered. Dany felt a slight, pleasant shiver.

"Yes, I'm fine. Let's – let's not keep Tyrion waiting." She picked up her pace, unsettled by the inclination she'd had to stay in Jon's arms. She wanted to control the process of tempting him – not cling to him like a green girl. They rounded a corner. Dany pawed at a cobweb stuck in her hair and flicked it away. "Well, I think we can rest assured no one's been this way before."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Tyrion said. "I found a cache of wildfire under King's Landing. Searching for weapons of mass destruction in dim, mysterious places is becoming a bit of a disturbing hobby for me."

The spiral of steps ended at an ancient door, made of dark wood, with a fearsome dragon knocker.

"Funny that you have to put your hand in the dragon's mouth to get to the hoard of treasure," Tyron said. He heaved the door open and Dany pushed through, thrusting her torch forward eagerly.

Piles of sparkling shards of black glass extended at least a hundred feet in the distance. Dany couldn't make out the other side of the cave. It seemed a wealth of riches to her.

Jon picked up a small piece and turned it over in his hands.

"Will it be enough?" Dany knew Jon had risked men's lives to save a few scraps of the glass.

Jon sighed. "It will have to be, or we'll all die."

"Remind me to teach you a thing or two about speech making," Dany said drily.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Yes, usually there's more 'let this be the last great stand of men', or some such. Our queen excels at it, I'm told."

Jon shrugged. "Given a few speeches in my time. I'm not much good at them, it's true. But I know the Long Night is coming and the dead come with it. We have to try to stop them, all of us, together. And even then it might not be enough." He swallowed. "This enemy brings the storm."

Dany felt the walls of the room closing in. The haunted look in Jon's eyes and the way he gripped the glass shook her. Here was a man who'd seen the army of the dead.

But Dany had overcome each and every obstacle in her life, one by one, through grit and determination and strength. _Strength, above all else, khaleesi_. When she encountered a challenge, her blood rose to meet it. She became sharp and focused and ready to fight. And when she fought, she won. This would be no different, she decided.

"I was born here on Dragonstone in the midst of the worst storm in memory, Jon. The lightning struck and the thunder crashed for days and the waves dashed the Targaryen fleet to pieces." Dany closed her eyes briefly, remembering the tales Viserys had told her of the destruction, the men bleeding to death on the rocks. "But it could not kill me."

"Daenerys Stormborn," Jon murmured, almost too low to hear, and although he did not look at her, she thought she heard a note of admiration in his tone.

"You told me, at Hardhome, that a White Walker mocked you."

"He wanted to break our spirit, show us how easily he could raise a hundred thousand undead after we'd crawled back to our boats."

"An enemy who tried to convince you that you could not survive the storm."

Jon slipped the glass into his pocket. "He might be right." He sounded exhausted.

Dany needed him to rally. "He was not. You've come to join forces with mine. The threat in the North has never faced the likes of us. We'll take these weapons, and my dragons, and _we will be the storm, Jon_ , that beats back the army of the dead."

She held out her arm, and Jon clasped it. His grasp was warm and firm. She saw determination in his eyes that mirrored her own. "Aye. We'll be the storm." And for the first time, Dany felt as if another dragon, with strength and fire to match her own, might stand by her side.


	3. Chapter 3

Jon and Dany had come to an agreement, but their relationship was still not easy. At Tyrion's suggestion, Dany made a point of sharing a meal with Jon each night. After a week of halting conversations, Dany decided to try a different tactic. Over one of the last meals of roast duck the dwindling cellars could manage, she told Jon of her time with the Dothraki, and of Khal Drogo, her sun and stars. Jon still didn't say much, but he did ask a few questions, and even prompted her to continue once or twice. As they picked as dessert – she'd ordered lemoncakes because she though he liked them, but those turned out to be Jon's sister's favorite, not his – she turned the conversation back to him.

"And have you loved, in your lifetime, Jon?"

Jon tensed. "I have."

 _Like pulling teeth with this man, to get him to share something of himself_. "Who?"

"A wildling woman. Ygritte."

Dany poured him ale. "Tell me."

Jon looked as if he might refuse, but she'd answered enough of his questions that it would be rude of him to reject her now. "I had to infiltrate the wildlings' ranks when I was in the Night's Watch. They live north of the Wall, the Free Folk. Ygritte was one of them. She took a liking to me."

"And you to her."

Jon's mouth turned up at the corner. "Aye."

"What was she like?" Who was the woman that had driven Jon to break his vows?

Jon stared at the table for a long time, long enough for Dany to come close to giving up and parting ways with him.

"She was fierce," he said. The sound carried in the room, though he'd spoken quietly.

Dany had learned she got more words out of Jon if she let him take his time. She fought the desire to get up and pace.

"Fierce, and smart, and quick with a bow. She told me I knew nothing." Jon glanced at Dany, a smile playing around his lips. "She was right. We climbed the Wall together, and gazed out over the top. She treated me like an equal. She didn't care that I was a bastard, only what I could do here and now in the moment. The Free Folk are like that." Jon shifted in his chair. "She had red hair. Kissed by fire, the wildlings call it. Lucky. She brought me into her tent and let me into her heart and she died in my arms." Jon's expression darkened. "I couldn't save her."

Dany was moved despite herself. Jon had a list of people he thought he hadn't saved, she knew – he'd told her in fits and starts about Robb, and Rickon, and even his sister, Sansa. Oh, they'd taken back their home, yes, but he hadn't been able to save her from Ramsay Bolton.

Dany only knew parts of that tale, but she still regretted that Bolton boy was dead. She would have liked to set Drogon on him. To have him experience the abject terror he'd gifted so freely to others, before he died, writhing in the flames.

Jon had drained his ale. Dany paused, unsure. Jon had told her more in one sitting that she managed to get out of him in a week. She was inclined to push him, to gather all the information she could, but the set of his jaw dissuaded her. She'd never met a man so caught up over his own failures. She settled for paying him a compliment.

"Ygritte was lucky, you know. To have been with you."

Jon scowled. "Did you not hear me? She died. In my–"

"Arms, yes, I heard you, Jon. I'm sitting next to you, there's no call to shout. She lived, though, before that moment. Lived long enough for you to take her in your arms and hold her close." Dany was hazarding a guess, but she suspected Jon was the kind of man who would cherish a woman once he let her in. "She was a warrior, Jon, a fighter. She knew death would come for her. But while she lived, and you lived, you were together, and you loved her, I imagine, with all your heart."

Her words had a larger effect than she expected. Jon blinked back tears. "She said something like that to me, once."

The silence stretched between them, but it was more comfortable than it had been before. Dany was sitting closest to the fire, and stifled a yawn. "I'll take my leave of you, Jon. We ride tomorrow at daybreak."

"Rhaegal's eager." Jon smiled for the first time that evening.

As Dany got up, Jon placed his hand on her arm. "Thank you, Daenerys." She was so surprised that she didn't even register annoyance at Jon's continued refusal to call her Dany.

"For what?"

Jon's grey eyes were soft. "I haven't – I haven't been able to tell anyone about how Ygritte died. Not until now."

Dany inclined her head slightly. "Goodnight, Jon."


	4. Chapter 4

The next day dawned bright and cold. The waves frothed into whitecaps around Dragonstone. Dany, in her riding leathers, met Jon at the Stone Drum. The brisk wind howled through the courtyard, and they could only raise a hand in greeting before she mounted Drogon and Jon swung up on to Rhaegal. The dragons took off at once, ready to hunt. Dany and Jon kept them to eating seabirds as they flew. Neither rider could yet handle the steep dives the dragons needed to pluck seals and other prey from the water. She noted with pride that Jon was handling Rhaegal's twists and turns better than he had a week ago.

Dany laughed as Drogon swooped towards the horizon, a few clouds flying past as he raced towards the rising sun. The water below was grey, tinged with pink as the sun rose, and the smell of salt was sharp in the air. She spotted a few ships far off to the left, their sails looking like chips of ivory from this height.

Viserion finally joined them, riderless and late as usual, flapping his wings hard. He was still the smallest of the three, and though Dany was loathe to admit it, she fretted about his health. She hoped, without a rider, he would be able to catch some more substantial prey today.

The dragons' scales gleamed as the sun climbed higher. Rhaegel's flashes of green were beautiful to behold. Drogon shone like burnished obsidian, while Viserion glittered white above the water.

Drogon strained beneath her as they made another pass over the island, and Dany held on tightly. The thermal currents above Dragonstone could be treacherous, but Drogon mastered them, even enjoyed cruising in them. Below, Rhaegal dipped down towards the ocean, thrown by the current, but Jon soon had him righted.

Suddenly she heard a wild scream, and felt Drogon's fury. She spotted Viserion tumbling out of the sky, hurtling towards the sharp black rocks at the foot of Dragonstone. Jon and Rhaegal were already diving for him, and Dany urged Drogon downward, heedless of the sea spray whipping her face. Her stomach clenched as Drogon angled straight down, flying faster than he ever had before.

They were too late. She saw crimson blood – far too much of it – as Viserion was impaled on a sharp spear of stone. A stabbing pain in her side almost blinded her. Viserion clawed at the gash in his side, unable to free himself. His scales scattered and sunk like coins under the water's surface.

The waves were his final undoing. The rising wind had built them into twenty foot tall monsters, and Viserion was hit by another, and then another before he let out one last anguished scream and tumbled into the sea.

Drogon and Rhaegal roared in unison, circling the spot where Viserion had perished. Dany held on for dear life, trying to breathe through the pain, as the dragons mourned the death of their brother.

When they finally touched down again in the Stone Drum, she slipped from Drogon's back and fled to her chambers. She thought a voice called after her but she couldn't hear anything except Viserion's last cry, echoing over and over in her mind.

A dull lassitude overtook her when the sobbing stopped. She locked herself away and refused to answer the increasingly insistent pleas at her door. She lay in her bed, unable to move. Why should she eat, when Viserion could not hunt again? Why should she rise, when one of her children was dead?

 _I should have found him a rider. I should have paid more attention, spent more time, taken more care with him. He was my child, and now he is gone forever._

She could not say how long it was before she felt the nudge of Drogon's mind. _Feed_.

She shoved him away, trying to close him out. Drogon, the strongest of her children, would not yield. _Feed. He is coming. Let him in_. She heard a small knock at her door.

"It's Jon, Daenerys. May I come in?"

No, she wanted to shout. No, you may not, leave me in peace, let me die. But Drogon urged her on, and she opened the door. She was sure her hair was tangled, and she hadn't had a bath since the fateful ride. She braced for Jon's look of disgust.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon seemed only sad when she opened the door. He didn't recoil at her appearance. He carried a tray of food, as if he were a common servant. He placed the tray carefully on the table as if he didn't want to startle her. Dany came far enough out of her daze to realize Jon's eyes were red from crying.

"I'm sorry, Daenerys. I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. I can't imagine, what this is like for you."

Good. Jon wasn't going to pretend he could understand the depth of her despair. He hadn't grown up with Viserion. Dany was the one who carried him through the red desert, and taught him to hunt. She still recalled how he'd nipped her fingers when she held out his first piece of scorched meat.

"Drogon and Rhaegal?" Dany's voice was rusty. She wondered how long it had been since she used it.

"Rhaegal is finally eating. Drogon...Drogon flew off yesterday, and hasn't returned." Jon searched her face.

"Drogon is alive. He encouraged me to open the door. He's probably several miles out. He always did enjoy disappearing for a few days, it was Viserion who stayed cl–"

Dany couldn't keep the tears from falling. Damn, damn, damn. She tried to stride to the table, to start eating, to show Jon she was well enough, and he could leave. She stumbled after taking a few steps. Jon caught her, and she leaned into him instinctively.

"You're bleeding." Jon led her to the bed.

Dany was about to protest when she saw the red streak on Jon's hand. She looked down and spotted a matching streak under her shirt. Could that tale have been true? Viserys had told her, many years ago, that riders could experience injuries when their dragons were hurt.

"But he was riderless," she whispered, pressing her hand to her side.

"I could always feel when Ghost was injured," Jon said softly. "Though I didn't share the wound. But you were his mother."

Jon reached tentatively for the wound at her side. She flinched.

"Dany. Please. May I?" She felt warmth go through her at hearing Dany. How ironic that he would use it now, when she was grimy and distraught and bleeding, rather than the nights she'd plied him with fine food, dressed in silk gowns.

She sniffed. "Only if you agree to call me Dany from now on."

Jon smiled at her. "On my honor."

"Very well, then." She held still as Jon lifted the fabric away from the gash. She fought the impulse to touch his soft, dark curls.

"It needs cleaning." Jon got the carafe of water and a napkin from the table and got to work. Dany hissed in pain.

"Are you all right?"

"Just – just get it over with quickly, please." She thought she saw a faint smirk as Jon bent to his work again. "What?"

"I think that's the first time you've said 'please' since we've met." Jon studied his efforts. "That's the best I can do. I'll call for a maester–"

"No!" Dany winced. She hadn't meant to sound weak. "No, please, Jon, I don't think – I don't think I can bear to see anyone but you. No one else knows the dragons the way you do. I don't trust anyone else to understand what I'm going through. Not yet."

Jon nodded, slowly. "I'll need to bandage it, then."

"Take one of my linen shifts. Top drawer. You can tear a strip of fabric."

Jon closed the drawer quickly and returned with a length of linen. Dany removed her shirt, with some help from Jon. He'd turned a shade of red, but be wound the fabric around her waist carefully. He was close enough that Dany could feel the heat of his body. He took great care to touch her waist, and only her waist, but somehow that singular focus made her acutely aware of each touch of his fingertips against her bare skin. Dany shivered at the contact. When he helped her put a clean shirt on, he held her hair out of the way, and she thought he let his palm rest on the back of her neck a few more seconds than was proper.

She looked down, feeling the edges of the dressing. "It doesn't seem right, Jon. That I'm starting to heal, and he's gone."

Jon took both of her hands in his. "Dany. Look at me. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault."

She was back in his arms, and her crying was quieter, but no less deeply felt. This time, when her tears were spent, she stayed in Jon's embrace, letting herself drift. She started crying in earnest then, fat, ugly tears that spilled down her cheeks. Jon said nothing, just took her in his arms and held her. She tucked her head under his chin and held on to his shirt, her body wracked with sobs. He swept his thumb in a soothing arc over her back, letting her get it out, holding her until the pain eased. Hesitantly, she pulled back. She hadn't found Jon's eyes striking when they met. She'd been disappointed, in fact, that they weren't the same shade of purple as her own. But now, when Jon looked at her with tenderness, she felt a tightening in her chest. This close, she could see the grey was ringed with violet around the iris. How had she never noticed before?

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

Jon squeezed her hand. "It was nothing, Dany." She thought she saw him sway towards her, then stop himself. "Get some rest now." He made her vow to eat and made sure she was comfortable before he bid her good night.

After Jon left, Dany found she had the strength to take a few bites of the potato stew Jon had brought. Her side still ached as she slept. She dreamed of Viserion, as she had every night since he died, but for the first time she did not see his fall – rather, she saw him soaring and playing with his brothers, before flying so high up towards the sun that he was lost from sight.


End file.
